Coriander Seeds
by Hesiod
Summary: Of all the lost faces to surface from the past, Athenril hadn't expected Bethany's to be among them. So when she spots her in Orlais, dressed in fancy white mage robes but without the silly mask (and it's definitely Bethany – still round-faced and fierce, and so tuggingly familiar), she follows her. Athenril/Bethany oneshot.


**Short Bethenril oneshot. AU in which it's implied that Bethany and Hawke helped Empress Celene keep her kingdom. **

**See bottom for A/N.**

* * *

Of all the lost faces to surface from the past, Athenril hadn't expected Bethany's to be among them. So when she spots her in Orlais, dressed in fancy white mage robes but without the silly mask (and it's definitely Bethany – still round-faced and fierce, and so tuggingly familiar), she follows her.

She follows her to a quaint, simple house on the more expensive part of town. No Templars trail her; the girl walks with ease, 7-foot swirled white staff in her hand and not a single thought to look behind her. No Circle, then. No more running. Athenril supposed after her and Hawke had helped the Empress win her war, Bethany might have been granted her freedom after all.

Good. She deserved it.

Bethany turns the key to her house and disappears behind the wooden door. It only takes a moment's deliberation before Athenril moves forward. She rounds the back, finds a window which is left slightly ajar, and then climbs to it.

There's not much sense to what she's doing, she thinks as her feet slip through the window and into the home without a sound. But it's_ Bethany_, and it's been so long.

Many years ago, she took some fresh-faced Fereldens into her charge in Kirkwall. It proved to be a prosperous year, and she had taken to the little mage girl and all her naïve curiosity. She liked her. In fact, preferred her to her pompous idiot of a sister, who was all too ready to be disagreeable. The Bethany from her memory was quiet and dark-haired, and eager and proud; easy to take instruction, with a quaint little sense of humor. A gem of sorts, in a city gone to shit.

One who didn't deserve to get locked away in the Gallows while worse people roamed the streets.

Athenril shakes off the thought. She's in a bedroom now. Bethany's, if the folded robes at the edge of the bed were any indication. Did she live here alone? Did she have a family now? She presses absent fingers to the robes as she crosses the silk patterned rug and out the door.

Bethany's in the kitchen. Athenril can hear her as she inches down the stairs, silent like a whisper over the wood. She feels her first tendrils of uncertainty as she approaches the room, her feet padding along the tiles of the main floor. Maybe she should have knocked on the front door - but then she would have had to explain why she was there, and still, she wasn't quite certain herself. She just wanted to see her. The rest would come later, she was sure.

She puts a slender, tattooed hand on the door frame of the kitchen and looks curiously to Bethany, back turned to her as she prepares a pot of tea.

"Mind if I join?" Athenril asks, slipping into the room.

Bethany turns and stares at her, wide-eyed and unmoving. But – _ah_ – Athenril sees her shoulders relax with recognition.

The girl regards her carefully, a nameless expression flickering across her face. Then, she reaches into the cupboard and pulls out two cups. "Do you like coriander tea?"

Athenril allows herself to smirk a little. "I do,"

* * *

It slowly becomes a routine. Athenril's managed to land a contract there in Orlais – a_ legitimate_ business dealing spices. It means a couple years out of the gutter and though she'll have to travel often, a permanent home in Orlais. It's more stability than she's ever had, and for once, the city isn't her enemy. Bethany is doing well, too. She works at the White Spire; her new status and freedom giving her a small authority on the council.

They enjoy each other's company.

Athenril's visits aren't predictable, but they're consistent. Every week or so, Athenril finds herself in the small house sharing a cup of tea with her old friend. It's slow and strange at first, but never uncomfortable.

Bethany tells her something new every visit. It's a guessing game of sorts - and Athenril follows suit, because she's learned to always give as much as she gets. With every cup of tea, Bethany gives Athenril a piece of her – a story, a habit, a smile - until after the fourth, fifth visit, Athenril thinks she might have enough of the girl to begin filling in the pieces of their years apart. They're not so different after all. Bethany has scars and stories to match her own and she wears them well. Athenril admires her for it.

"Where's Hawke?" Athenril asks one evening, placing the warm mug back on the table. Bethany hardly talks of her sister, and before now, Athenril had never thought to ask of the woman. _Not in Orlais_, if Athenril hadn't seen her by now.

Bethany sits herself across the table, placing careful hands on either side of her steaming cup. Her hair is longer now and she wears it in a messy bun above her head. Some shorter locks hang loose, curling at the back of her neck in a way that suits her. "Ferelden," Bethany responds. There's a flicker of something there - like a memory, or a sour emotion, but it vanishes quickly. "I think she might visit this year. It's a long trip, though. She's very busy."

"Do you miss her?"

Bethany looks at her as if it's a silly question, eyebrows pulling together delicately. "Of course. And Ferelden, too."

Athenril smiles thinly. She shouldn't have asked. She knows Orlais is the only place Bethany can have her freedom. Certainly, if she had the choice, she'd be with her sister, doing whatever it was Hawkes often did. Helping people or saving cities, probably. "The heart has a way of drawing you back to where you came from," Athenril says. She looks down at her mug. Coriander seeds litter the bottom of her cup, and faintly, she can see her reflection in the light liquid. "Ostwick did nothing for me, but I should like to see it again. It's a silly thought. A waste of time, if I ever did."

She scratches at the oak table. It was simple, like the rest of the house. Bethany had shown her around on her second visit. There should have been a swell of pride there, Athenril remembers thinking, but Bethany had stayed modest as ever. Athenril was still having a hard time taking it all in. Bethany, the apostate who came to Kirkwall as a refugee; Bethany, who gave herself up to the Circle to unburden the others; Bethany, who became a hero of a city she'd never even set foot in until of late. Now, with her own home and life outside of bars. She earned it.

"The heart does many silly things, doesn't it?" Bethany murmurs with a smile.

* * *

Athenril isn't sure why Bethany chose to sit in the living room instead of the kitchen this evening. But she balances two mugs and the teapot on a small tray and sets them out in front of the couch, motioning for Athenril to sit beside her.

They're shoulder to shoulder now, steaming cups in their hands and a small fire flickering orange and yellow shadows throughout the room. Athenril has her legs bunched up underneath her, and she finds a warm comfort where her knee presses against Bethany's thigh.

"What do you do for fun?" Bethany asks suddenly, bringing her tea to her lips and blowing gently. The steam blows away in languid swirls. "When you're not working, that is."

Athenril watches her intently. Bethany's lips are pressed together and she holds the position as if she's blowing a kiss. Athenril's gaze flickers to them curiously. "Visit you," she responds, a little smirk making its way onto her face.

"I wouldn't call myself fun," Bethany laughs. "I don't know what to do when I'm not at the Circle." She puts her tea cup back onto the tray, looking up between dark locks. "What else?"

Athenril chuckles lightly. She would call Bethany a lot of things - fun, deserving, strong, beautiful . . . "Are you bored in Orlais?" she asks. "You could always go silly mask shopping. Or silly ruffle shopping. Or engage in mindless gossip with the less shady patrons around here - I hear Orlais is full of Games."

"Those are your suggestions?" Bethany asks, another laugh escaping her. Her eyes twinkle at the humour. "I'm afraid I don't look good in ruffles."

"You look comely in everything else," Athenril says, holding her gaze evenly. Bethany colors at the statement and Athenril feels an uncharacteristic swell in her chest. She stretches an arm around the other girl's shoulders and pulls her close, sighing contently. Bethany gives a surprised little squeak, but relaxes into the touch. "I could visit more often," Athenril says slowly. She looks down at the girl, face now not a foot away. "If you'd like."

Bethany rests her head on Athenril's shoulder, red still warming her cheeks. "That's a _better_ suggestion," she says quietly. "I have plenty of tea."

* * *

Athenril's already waiting on the couch when Bethany comes home that night. The mage comes in fumbling with a small bag of food she'd purchased from the market and Athenril waits patiently for her to notice her. When she does, her eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Two nights in a row? Am I so lucky?" she teases, drawing a smile from the elf. She puts her groceries on the dining table before joining Athenril.

"I said I'd visit more," Athenril says, shuffling over to make space for the girl. "Plus, I have something for you."

Bethany eyes her carefully, an arm stretching along the top of the couch. "What is it?"

"Oh, something small," Athenril responds, shrugging. She reaches to her pack on the ground and pulls out a small brown package. She drums her fingers on it as she handles it, feeling strangely anxious about the gift. "It made me think of you."

She unwraps the item in question, pulling aside the tweed and revealing a small, swirled pastry. She finds herself relieved that she hadn't managed to squish it on her climb into the house, and it still looked as shapely as when she bought it.

Bethany's lips part at the sight. "Maker, is that-"

"Ferelden's national delicacy? It's supposed to be," Athenril says with a grin. She holds it out to her. "Unless that baker lied, and in that case I'll have to kill him. You know, for honour and all."

Bethany picks up the small pastry, bringing it close to her nose. Her eyes flutter shut. "Oh no, this is it - it smells delightful." She's halfway to putting it in her mouth, before the movement hitches. "You should have the first bite!" she says, holding it to Athenril excitedly. "You must try it,"

Athenril pushes it back gently. "It's for you. I don't have much of a sweet tooth,"

"A sweet heart is what you have," Bethany says, quirking her lips.

Athenril gaze falls to her lap, feeling sheepish at the largely inaccurate compliment. But it draws a smile from her, anyway. "On with it, girl," she says.

Bethany doesn't waste time biting into the roll. She makes a satisfied little sound as she chews, eyes closing at the taste. "My mother used to make these for us in Lothering. Just on special occasions though," she says, when she's swallowed her first bite. "Carver and Marian used to fight over who could get my father's roll. He didn't have a sweet tooth either. Sometimes I would take it while they were busy bickering," she looks at Athenril with an embarrassed smile. "Thank you for this. It was very thoughtful."

"A little taste of home," Athenril responds. "I'll show you where the bakery is. Then you'll have somewhere to visit while I'm away in Starkhaven."

"_Starkhaven?_" Bethany says in alarm, and almost drops the sweet. Athenril makes a motion to catch it, fingers wrapping around Bethany's hand. She holds it there.

"Yes," Athenril says. "Just for a month. There's some business I have to oversee."

Bethany doesn't hide her disappointment. Her lips rub together, unsettled, drawing Athenril's attention there.

"Maker," Bethany breathes. "That . . . is far."

Athenril tips up the girl's chin with a finger. She gives her a reassuring smile. "I'll be back in no time, Bethany. I hear the tea is as good as mud there, anyway." She gives her fingers a squeeze and winks, putting the other girl at ease. "Now eat the rest of your pastry. I'll go put on the kettle."

* * *

**I'm not sure if I'll leave this as a oneshot - it was meant to be, but I ended up writing a few parts for it in extension. Maybe if I find a good way to wrap it up, I'll add another chapter at a later time. **

**Anyway, just some Bethany/Athenril fluff. Gotta love them . . . Written on my iPhone after reading the rather disappointing conclusion to The Masked Empire. **

**Enjoy! I might write more of these little things. Taking a break from Aftermath and just trying to edit that beast of a story before I continue. **


End file.
